Refugees for nearly 40 years consider return to conflictRefugees from Western Sahara have been living in camps in Algeria since 1975. Now, faced with a reduction in international aid, some Sahrawis are calling for a return to war.

From the WorldViews section of the Washington Post.

“For me, I think there is only two solutions,” Ahmed said. “We go to the borders, fight, make war, which is not the best solution. And the other solution, which is self-determination, this is the best one. Just let us vote. Is Morocco afraid of something?”

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This is the first of a monthly "snapshot" story of life in the refugee camps. We hope these glimpses will serve to give you a clearer picture of the Saharawi people, their realities, their struggles, and their amazing determination to rise above their circumstances.

"Some of the older women who first came to the camps refused to unpack their suitcases thinking that they'd need to be ready to return home once the war was won - that was four decades ago and most of that generation now lie in the desert cemetery."

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In previous years the UN Security Council has voted not to monitor human rights violations in Western Sahara. This is unacceptable. It is time to put pressure on the Security Council and demand they fulfill their duty to the people of Western Sahara. They will be voting in April 2015 so we need to act NOW to exert some collective pressure.

On a distant dusty road There was a distant dusty stone Kicked by a soldier on his tea break The stone rumbled forward As he stepped back and he thought ‘Why can I not be more like that stone?’

In a distant deep blue sea There was a distant shoal of fish Who muttered as they rocked upon the tide ‘Why is it that these ships Keep on cutting up our necks?’ Thinking back to 1975

On a silver mound of sand Stood a sullen silver moon Who watched with a scythe in her hand She said, ‘I’ve to come to reap the harvest But the furthest I could get Was to dig out hidden landmines underground’

And she said ‘Free Western Sahara!'

In a rotten pile of tin Baked rusty by the sun A conversation could be heard amongst the waste ‘Hey you, you can of tuna? What’s the deal with us all bein’ here?’ ‘I’ve no idea,’ replied the other tin in haste.

And underneath the tin Were some rocks and veins of gas Minerals that glimmered unabashed Said the phosphate to the propane ‘It’s insane all this profit!’ ‘Shut it, you’re got ideas above your shaft.’

And sure enough the sun came down to torch their necks Blistered almost to a cinder But the elders cried as they clenched their eyes ‘’Our revenge will be the laughter of our children!"